Second Best
by Kalexico
Summary: Fill for this prompt at the glee angst meme: Brittany isn't a natural blonde, she dyed her hair so Santana would look at her the way she's always looked at Quinn.
1. Chapter 1

You know that people think you're stupid.

You know that if you weren't a brunette, people would eagerly stamp you as a dumb blonde.

You don't necessarily agree, but you've long since given up trying to disagree with them or prove them otherwise. The truth is, you don't really care what people think about you anymore. You don't understand why you should - it's your life after all and as long as the people you love treat you well, you're fine.

Not everyone can be like Santana. Not everyone can understand that you're not dumb or stupid, but that your brain just works in a different way. That won't change, no matter how many doctors or psychologists you see.

You love Santana.

Santana has a tough exterior, but you know that the reality is that she's just so scared that someone will see right through her that she bites before she can get bitten. You feel proud to know the Santana inside. The Santana inside is fiercely loyal and protective, a bit of a history nerd, funny and intelligent and although she'd sooner kill herself than admit it, also kind of sweet. You wish she'd show this side more to people. The side of her that is capable of feeling such overwhelming love it makes her act like a middle schooler with a crush.

Something feels funny in your chest each time you are reminded that that love isn't directed at you, but at _her_. No matter how many times you kiss Santana, no matter how many orgasms you give her, it will always be her - Quinn Fabray.

You see the way she looks at Quinn. That longing in her eyes, so deep that it pains you as well. You would do anything to take it away, to make her see that if Quinn doesn't love her back she's an idiot, that she deserves better than to pine after a girl that she may well never get. Because, let's face it, even on the off chance that Quinn is gay, hell will freeze over before she will give in to those feelings.

You see the anger in her eyes when Quinn is walking around with some guy on her arm, looking happy as ever. You'll never forget how empty her eyes were when she heard the news that Quinn was pregnant. You'll never forget that she closed herself into her bedroom for a week and cried. You'll never forget the pure and utter hatred in her eyes whenever she saw Puck, because with that impeccable intuition of hers, she always knew it couldn't be Finn's. You'll never forget how she kept on hitting and kicking him left, right and center, even though her knuckles were bleeding. You'll never forget the tears streaming down her face.

You wish she'd use that intuition to pick up on your feelings.

You're scared to tell her, because you'll take anything you can get from her. Right now, that means making out and sex. You're scared that, if she knows how strongly you love her, she'll want to stop it. You don't think you can do without the touch of her soft skin, the brush of her lips against yours, the flick of her tongue where you need it the most. You simply don't think you can do without her. Even though she always avoids to look you in the eye as she comes. Even though she moans Quinn's name as she comes.

You sometimes wonder how some people can call you stupid, but not see that look in Santana's eyes every time she sees Quinn. That mix of happiness, adoration, pure longing. You wonder how it is that nobody knows, nobody even suspects.

It makes you angry sometimes, that Santana can't seem to get Quinn out of her head. You think to yourself that after all these years, Santana must have figured that it wasn't going to happen, so why couldn't she let go?

But then a taunting voice asks you the same question. Santana will obviously always love Quinn, so why can't you let Santana go? Why can't you move on? Why would you rather settle to be her second choice than to be anyone else's first?

Because you love her.

And Santana can't let go because she loves Quinn, despite all the utter crap the Head Cheerio pulls. Quinn has hurt Santana over and over again, has ratted her out, betrayed her, stomped on her heart - but she only has to utter a soft "I'm sorry", she only has to touch Santana's arm and look her in the eye and give her a small, guilty smile and Santana crumbles. Santana just crumbles, accepts the apology and continues pining.

Quinn knows how Santana feels, and she uses it. You've tried to tell Santana, but she brushes it off, says it's not true. She won't believe you. She won't believe that Quinn is fully aware of the longing looks, the lustful stares. That Quinn sometimes shakes it up a little because she knows that it drives Santana crazy. Santana refuses to see the devious smirk that accompanies it. She refuses to see that that hint of cleavage and collarbone is nothing but a way to taunt Santana and boost her own self esteem.

It's crazy, the things Santana would do for Quinn. But then it's also crazy, the things you would do for Santana.

One day, you see that look in her eyes again. Quinn has closed her locker, given a small wave to the both of you and turned around. Once again, Santana is looking at her as if she's the only person on this Earth that will ever matter to her.

Later that same day, as you inspect your hair in the mirror you keep in your locker, you take a decision. It's the last time you see your hair brown.

It's rash and maybe even a bit foolish, but you find yourself at the hairdresser's anyway and you voice the thought out loud for the first time.

"I want to be a blonde."

The hairdresser cocks an eyebrow, shrugs and gets to work.

You just want her to look at you the way she looks at Quinn Fabray. Maybe if you look like her enough, the resemblance will strike Santana and maybe that will be enough. You even buy hazel contacts to go with them.

The next day, your heart beats faster than ever in your chest as you approach your locker. Not everybody seems to recognize you and when Santana turns the corner, she scowls as well. It's only when you're facing each other that Santana's scowl changes to a look of surprise.

"Britt! What did you do?"

You smile brightly, hopefully. "I decided I wanted a change. Do you like it?"

"I… wow, it's… different," she stutters. Then she smiles, friendly. "Yeah, it's nice. I guess yesterday changed a lot for the both of us, then."

"What do you mean?" you ask, confused. You don't like where this is going, but you decide to wait it out. Maybe she realized that she loves you after all? You immediately chastise yourself - you've taught yourself long ago to not hope such things.

She beams in pure and utter happiness. You've never seen her this happy before and you feel your heart sink.

"Quinn kissed me last night," she grins excitedly, not even bothering to look around if anyone heard her.

You figure that it's probably pointless to remind Santana of the fact that you told her you heard Coach Sylvester say that she would make Santana Captain of the Cheerios if Quinn didn't step up her game. That the both of you know that all the other Cheerios are too scared of Quinn to try and beat her to the top, and that they're frankly also inexperienced. That Santana is the only threat to Quinn.

Your heart throbs when you see them secretly hold hands in the car, steal a kiss after Glee club when the others are gone. When Santana tells you about the first time they made love - because that's how she phrases it - and how it was the best she has ever had (despite the fact that Quinn has never been with a girl before and her only experience with a boy is Puck).

You cry yourself to sleep when you think about the happiness in Santana's eyes, her eagerness to swallow any story Quinn feeds her about how they have to be careful that nobody finds out because it would cost them their much desired status. That Liam, the new hot football player, is only a beard.

Your blonde hair doesn't matter. The hazel contacts you bought don't matter. No matter how hard you try, you will never be Quinn Fabray for her.

You almost feel numb when you realize that Santana genuinely believes that their stolen moments, their secretive kisses, the sneaky sex, is an actual relationship.

It breaks your heart when you realize that Santana genuinely believes that Quinn loves her and wants to be with her, and that she'll never buy it if you tell her that she doesn't.

You don't think you can breathe when it hits you that Santana will always chose Quinn Fabray over you and that even if Quinn would shatter her world, that still wouldn't change.

But still, you can't help it. Before you go to sleep every night, your shaking hands hold the phrame of the picture of the two of you. You carress her cheek and mutter: "I love you" through your tears.


	2. Chapter 2

Quinn Fabray has been the center of your world for as long as you can remember.

Ever since you were just little girls, she has been the very essence of everything you think, say and do. You remember her when she was young, clear as day. You remember seeing her for the first time in the park, on her father's hand. You remember forgetting all about the game of soccer you were playing with your brother and cousins as she walked by. You remember being completely unhinged by that girl passing by. You remember your brother and cousins teasing you. You remember trying to keep your clothes clean in case she notices you - you don't want to give a bad first impression. One of your father's many words of wisdom is that the first impression is the most important one and can never be undone. At that age, you still take your father very seriously. You don't see him for the corporate prick he is yet.

You remember the first time Quinn Fabray looked at you, with those piercing hazel eyes. You remember being thrown off balance by the incredible sadness in her eyes, and you remember thinking that it was so wrong that a girl this beautiful should ever be this sad. You remember that first weak smile she cast in your direction. You remember how your heart fluttered and your stomach dropped. You also remember stumbling and falling over your own feet the first time she let go of her father's hand, walked over to you and greeted you shyly. You remember her giggle and the burning of your cheeks, your momentary intense death wish.

You remember hearing her voice for the first time.

"Hi, I'm Quinn Fabray."

Soft, smooth.

Music.

You remember being so utterly enchanted by her very presence that your brain couldn't form a coherent sentence. You remember being so embarrassed because Tiago, your brother, put his hand on your shoulder, crooked a lazy but charming smile and said: "This is Santana Lopez."

You remember how you cleared your throat, stuttered, looked at your feet, back at her, into her eyes. And just when you were about to say that that barrette was really nice, her father called her back. She waved at you and then she ran to him, and you were left speechless.

Your brother and cousins never let you hear the end of it.

Eleven years later, Quinn Fabray still looks just as pretty with a barrette in her hair. But then she always looks pretty. No, actually, she looks the epitome of beautiful every second of every day.

One would think that after eleven years, one would get used to her smile, her voice, her laugh - but you don't. Every time you get to witness any of these wonders, it still feels like a small miracle that this girl is in your life.

You are absolutely convinced that she is nothing short of perfect.

Your eyes follow her everywhere. You watch her every move. You know it's creepy, but you can't help it. You can't _not_ look at her whenever she's around. Her eyes, her face, her smile, her nose, her lips, her chest, her stomach, her arms, her ass, her legs, even her feet - you cannot get over how gorgeous and sexy she is.

Oh, the things you would _do_ to her if you could only touch her. If only you could touch her just once...

You long for her so intensely it hurts. It keeps you awake at night.

A part of you knows it's not healthy, but you can't stop yourself. You are positive that you would gladly die if you thought it would make her happy. You'd give your life for her in a heartbeat, without second thought.

It absolutely _kills_ you inside when she has a boyfriend. You feel your blood boiling, your head pounding, your veins nearly popping when she walks around with a new one on her arm. You want to punch them where it hurts the most, you want to kick the everliving _shit_ out of them for touching her that way. They don't deserve her. They don't _know_ her the way you do. They see a pretty face and think that's all there is to her.

You try to make the hurt go away by kissing Brittany, by having sex with Brittany.

It's impossible.

You remember hearing that Quinn was pregnant. You remember how it felt like all air was just sucked from your lungs. It was as if your insides were collapsing, you couldn't breathe or think or eat or sleep or _function_. You were empty. Hollow inside. You went through the motions, desperately trying to make everything unreal. Nothing got through to you. It was as if you were living in a bubble, all sight and sound retorted. You remember going to your bedroom, closing the door and not leaving it for a week. You remember how your room was nearly covered in tissues.

You remember seeing Puck for the first time after you heard the news. You remember that feeling - almost as if someone had opened a cage inside you, letting all your rage out. Nobody had to tell you it was _him,_ that vile piece of horseshit. You remember screaming at him, tears in your eyes from anger and pain. You remember feeling like you could just motherfucking _kill_ that bastard for touching Quinn with his filthy, unworthy hands. You remember feeling like you could barf at the thought of what he had done, the selfish arrogant _asshole_. You remember punching him, kicking him until your hands were bleeding, still not finding yourself able to stop. You'd lost all control.

You remember the soft touch of her hand on your arm, just as you were about to kick his jaw. You turned around. She looked at you, right into your eyes. She calmly told you to stop and it was all you could do not to fall on your knees and cry at her feet. You were so close then, so close to telling her that you love her, that you always have.

You didn't, not then.

Instead, you went to Brittany and you pretended she was Quinn once again. Moaned Quinn's name once again. Felt incredibly guilty towards Brittany once again, but you honestly can't help it.

Quinn is so lovely. She's talented, awesome, smart, strong, loyal to a tee, witty, soft, sweet, intense. She warms your heart with one look, as much as it disgusts you to admit.

You can never stay angry with her for too long. She has hurt you in the past, but it's what happens if you really care about someone, right? You hurt them sometimes. And she just has to look at you and tell you she's sorry and you can't bring yourself to stay mad at her.

Because you love her and you forgive her.

You believe in her.

You live and breathe for her. So much that sometimes it scares you. Sometimes you think that maybe you should try to let her go. Sometimes, at night, you think you've accepted the fact that she will never want you. And you think you're okay with that, if you can be her friend.

But then the next morning you see her and she gives you that small smile and it's all gone. You're back to wanting desperately to tuck that loose strand of hair behind her ear and kiss her. Show her how much she is loved. You're back to mentally crawling at her fucking _feet._

You have written anonymous letters to her in the past. Confessions of your love shoved in her locker, in a handwriting that is not yours. Then you chickened out and retracted it (you know her locker combination from staring at her so often, but you've never used this knowledge for anything else), fearing she might think a guy is after her. You can't stand the thought that she would attribute your genuine feelings to an unworthy creature.

You often feel like a pathetic mess, the way everything in your life, in your world revolves around her. The way that little wave of hers has you so intensely focused on her. The way it makes you want to pin her against those lockers and fuck her brains out, and how it clashes so irrevocably with the desire to make soft, slow and sweet love to her.

Brittany tells you that she heard Coach Sylvester tell Quinn that she needs to step up her game if she doesn't want to lose her spot as Captain to Santana. You want to rip Coach Sylvester apart.

Quinn's currently dating Liam and you hate him with a blind passion. You refuse to listen to the rational part of you that tells you he's a decent guy and that you should be glad that Quinn's dating _him_ and not some retarded asshole.

_Of course he's decent. Quinn's moved passed retarded assholes now. My girl is smart enough._

It doesn't stop you from wanting to kill him, painfully and slowly, for holding her hand and putting a smile on her face (even if the smile doesn't quite seem to reach her eyes). That is your goddamn job.

One night, you're sitting on your window sill, your legs dangling outside. You're looking out at the sky and wondering what the point of your entire fucking life is if you can't be with her. If you can only adore her from afar, if you can only touch her face in your dreams.

You look down, at the ground several feet below you and for a brief moment, you wonder if it would be deep enough. If you would fall hard enough, or how you would have to twist your neck for ultimate success.

You're surprised when your door opens and she's standing there. She has a key to your house and it's not uncommon for her to visit, but it's late and you know how much she values her sleep. She insists it's good for her skin, or something like that. You silently insist she needs nothing because it's quite impossible for her to become more beautiful than she already is.

You smile at her, but she looks nervous. She walks over to you, stops, wrings her hands.

"Quinn, what's wrong?" you ask her quietly, a bit concerned.

"Santana..." her voice is hoarse.

You jump up. "Is something up? Did someone hurt you? Who did it? I swear I'll find the motherfucker and-"

And then she kisses you.

It's out of this world.

You nearly lose your balance. Her soft, moist lips move against yours and you have to stop yourself from sobbing. You want to grab her, kiss her passionately, wrap your arms around her and disappear inside of her and you still wouldn't be close enough and it kills you but you're kissing her and your mind is running around going all kinds of places and you think you can't think but you do and it's just _insane_ the way her hand cups your cheek and she opens her lips and your tongues are touching and you feel like you're going to explode and you're on a high and the tears are rolling down your cheeks when your tongue explores the roof of her mouth for the first time and you swear to God you're dead and you've gone to heaven because this, right here, is everything and her lips are so -

And then it stops.

Air.

Right, you need that too.

She rests her front against yours and smiles. Her thumb wipes your tears away, but they're instantly replaced by fresh ones.

"I love you," you whisper.

You can't help it.

She doesn't say anything, but that's okay.

She kissed you.

Your head is still spinning when she tells you that she has to leave.

You're still rooted on the spot ten minutes later.

You're so excited. You cannot _wait_ to tell Brittany - she's going to be _so _happy for you. She has known about your intense love for Quinn for as long as the two of you have known each other - you're not a fool, you know she can see it and the sex is pretty telling. She'll be so relieved to see that finally, after eleven years, you got what you wanted - Quinn Fabray. You remember telling her all about your awesome and super pretty friend Quinn five minutes after you met her.

The next morning, an unfamiliar blonde is waiting at your locker.

You scowl, feeling the power surge through your body. You can handle the motherfucking world after last night. (Only a part of you is afraid that Quinn will panic and deny the kiss ever even happened.) It's only when you reach your locker that you recognize your friend.

"Britt! What did you do?"

She smiles and it kind of lights up the room. You can honestly say that some day, someone will love her very much. "I decided I wanted a change. Do you like it?"

"I... wow, it's... different," you stutter, still surprised. You smile as a thought hits you. "Yeah, it's nice. I guess yesterday changed a lot for the both of us, then."

"What do you mean?" she asks, clearly confused. A hint of dread shows on her face, but you're too psyched to pay closer attention.

"Quinn kissed me last night," you grin excitedly.

Brittany smiles, but something seems off about it. You don't know what it is, but you're sure it's nothing. It's Brittany. Brittany is always happy for you.

Later that day, Quinn quells your fear by pulling you with her behind the bleachers and making out with you. You have never felt this happy in your life.

"Do you love me, Santana?" she asks. Her voice sounds so insecure and you cannot fathom that she even questions that.

"Of course I do. With everything that I am."

"Then you understand that I have to keep seeing Liam, right? People have to think we're a couple and that we love each other. We live in Lima, Ohio. People are bigoted and stupid. I don't want anyone to hate me, or you for who we love and it's none of their business either way. People don't understand that what we have is way more special than the bland lives they lead with their bland husbands and wives, their bland children and their bland dogs and their bland houses and their bland jobs. I'll have to keep seeing Liam, but please know that I love you, Tana. Always remember that I love you."

For a moment, your world fucking _implodes_.

But she looks into your eyes and you can see the fear, so you swallow and nod. Then your brain catches up and her words fully hit her. _She loves me._ You can scream it from the rooftops - she loves me!

"I understand, baby."

She smiles. "Baby," she repeats, almost as if she's testing the taste and sound of it. "I like that."

She tells you that you need to set up some rules to protect (basically, to hide) your relationship. That you both know that if Quinn's parents find out, you're both done for. That you'll never see her again.

You agree with her.

You hold hands on the way to school, in the car. You steal kisses behind the bleachers, in the bathroom (very quickly), in empty classrooms, or in the choir room when the others have left.

The first time the two of you make love is just... epic. Your hands never want to stop touching her, your lips never want to stop brushing her skin. Your hands find their way all over her. You make sure to be gentle, sweet.

It's all about her. You want her to feel good. You want to crawl into her and hug her core and love her so much that she physically feels it. The moment when you feel her crashing down from her first orgasm and she screams your name is magical. Just magical.

The tears are streaming down your face and you're kissing her all over and you can't stop. She's intoxicating, addictive, mind-blowing. She's your favorite drug.

When you've finally exhausted yourself, you cuddle into her, curl up against her. She holds you so tightly and you've never felt so safe and secure in your life.

Later, you teach her how to return the favor.

She becomes a pro.

In the beginning of your relationship, there seems to be a sadness in her eyes, but it's nothing you're not used to. It's the Quinn you know. When you see her changing, when you see her becoming happier - you're sure you'll never feel such accomplisment in your life ever again.

You never notice the way Brittany looks at you. You only ever notice Quinn (but you don't notice that strange look of something that almost resembles guilt in her eyes when she looks at you - maybe you don't want to notice.)

You, Santana Lopez, have achieved your heart's desire at sixteen.

You've made Quinn Fabray happy and that's all you've ever wanted. That's all you'll ever need.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Thank you for the amazing reviews! This is new territory for me and I can't begin to tell you how happy I am with the reception of this story.**

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><p>You remember meeting Santana Lopez.<p>

One day, when you were five, your father started taking you on walks through the park around the time your mother would come home. You thought it was because your mother talked too much. You didn't understand that she didn't know that your father liked silence more than noise. He'd made it clear to you time and time again, so surely your mother should have known after having been together with him for that long?

You remember seeing a group of boys playing soccer and being surprised when you noticed that one of them was a girl. You tried not to look at her. You'd been taught that staring is impolite, so you looked from the corner of your eyes.

The first few times, her face and her clothes were dirty. You didn't mind. She fascinated you. You'd never met a girl who played soccer. You were sure that your parents wouldn't have allowed it if it were you - the boyish clothes, the dirt, the wildness of it all. You knew that she looked at you and it made you blush a little that a special girl like her would notice you. At first, she was running around when you walked by. Over time, she already expected you and she was on the look-out. Her clothes were less and less dirty.

One day, you couldn't help yourself. You turned your head and you looked at her. You tried to smile, but you hadn't had much practice in your short life. Your parents always told you to get a grip on yourself when you smiled too much or laughed too loudly.

Another day, and again you couldn't stop yourself. You _had_ to talk to this girl. You tried to find a reason for going to her, to sell the story to your father. To your surprise, he sighed in defeat and nudged you, his eyes conveying his message: _just go to her_.

You felt nervous when you first talked to her. She simply wasn't anything like any of your friends. She simply wasn't anything like _you_.

"Hi, I'm Quinn Fabray."

She didn't answer you and you wondered if you did anything wrong - or if anything was wrong with _her_. An older guy introduced her as Santana Lopez. You cocked your head, a curious smile on your face, but then your father called you back. You waved at her and ran back to him.

Over the next couple of years, you got to know her better. You've never been stupid and you figured out soon enough that she liked you the way you were supposed to like boys. She was always looking at you and trying to make you laugh. She always defended you, even if there really was no reason to. She'd always agree to do whatever you wanted. She always did everything you asked her to do.

It made you feel good about yourself. You loved the kind of power you had over her. It was just so _fascinating_ to know that you only had to snap your finger and your wish would be her command. You remember testing this for fun sometimes, when you were bored and you would see to what lengths she'd go for you.

She let you have all the covers in the bed on sleepovers, even though you didn't need them and you knew that she was cold. And you did feel bad about it, a little bit, so you ended up lying really close to her.

You told her you had an intense craving for candy even though you knew she had just spent the last of her pocket money on your friendship bracelets. She stole five dollars from her parents.

You asked her to jump into the pool even though you knew that she was afraid of water. She did it, for you. She never questioned why you would even ask that of her.

In a strange, perverse way, you loved her for all of it. But you'd been brought up not to be affectionate with anyone, so you let yourself fall over the border of the patio so that she would hold you in her arms and let you cry on her shoulder. She never knew what you were really crying for.

You know you're not a good person, you've always known. The thing is, you never really knew that was expected of you. Your parents taught you that it was important to uphold a perfect image. Nobody was allowed to see any kind of flaws. It was also important to keep enemies close - just as important as trying to influence (manipulate, really) people to do what you want them to do. Having power over other people and using it to your benefit, deceit and the image of perfection were the core values of your upbringing. Always pretend, never care. Don't get emotionally attached. Keep _your_ best interests at heart.

You never realized how fucked up that was until you met Brittany Pierce.

Santana introduced her to you, reluctantly. She probably wanted to keep you to herself. She was impossible whenever you spent too much time with others. She would cry for hours if you told her you'd talked to a really nice guy or girl and had planned a playdate with them.

But Brittany... she had you from the first moment.

Brittany was everything that you were not and never would be. Brittany Pierce was pure, sweet, innocent, herself. She was not afraid to be who she was, even if people thought she was stupid. She had the brightest smile and didn't have any prejudices at all.

Over the years, she grew up and turned into such a beautiful and sexy young girl. You can watch her dance for hours on end and not be bored. She's so humble and kind. She's so helpful, so open, so incredibly light-hearted.

You want her. You want to _be_ with her. You want her to hold you, comfort you, tell you that you're not a bad person. You want to kiss her. You want to run off with her. You want her to redeem you. You want to touch her, explore her, bask yourself in her.

You know that Santana is always looking at you, but you only have eyes for Brittany.

Santana follows your every move and you know it. She wants you. It kind of gives your self esteem a boost, but it's not enough to compensate the hurt you feel over not being able to be with Brittany. You know you don't deserve her anyway, but _still_.

Santana looks at you like she could _eat_ you. She's complex, intense. She's not as open anymore as she was back when she was a child. She's always there. Sometimes it scares you how her eyes burn through you.

You wish Brittany would look at you like that.

Sometimes, you shake it up a little, hoping that Brittany will notice you. Sometimes, you wear that shirt that leaves a hint of collarbone and cleavage, hoping to work on her hormones. But she only looks at Santana.

It kills you.

You have to keep Santana as your friend, though. _Keep your enemies close_, she can hear her father say. In a sick way, you both love and hate her.

You love her because she always has your back. When she found out you were pregnant, she nearly killed Puck. When you stopped her with the touch of a hand, with one look - you felt that surge of power again. She's almost like a puppet in your hands. Sometimes, it's like you can perform magic. Sometimes you hurt her, just to see what she'll do, and it's fucking _amazing_ how her resolve just melts if you look into her eyes and mutter a soft apology - you can _see_ it crumble right in front of you.

You have to hand it to her, in eleven years she hasn't given up on you. You're not sure whether that is romantic, worrying or terrifying.

But you hate her. You're not stupid. You know something is up with her and Brittany, and you _definitely _know when you walk in on them one day in Santana's room. They are too busy to notice you and you immediately leave. You're crying by the time you've reached your car. You swear you could kill her for touching Brittany.

Brittany is pure and innocent and Santana should know better than to fucking _taint_ her. Santana should just stay away from her, especially when you know she's too obsessed with _you_ to truly care about Brittany, which means she's using Brittany.

You decide you'll have your revenge.

You will defend Brittany's honor until the day you die, the only good thing you'll ever do with your miserable life.

When Coach Sylvester tells you the next day that you'll have to step up your game if you don't want to lose your title as Captain to Santana, the game is _so_ on. She has already taken Brittany away from you - she won't fucking have _this_ as well.

You decide to use Santana in turn. You go to her house that night and kiss her. You see what it does to her, how it shakes her to her core.

You want to use her and then dump her. You want to stomp on her empty heart for abusing Brittany. Brittany deserves better. At least _you_ would take care of her and protect her, respect her. You want to _hurt_ her.

The next day, Brittany has dyed her hair and it confuses you. Why would she do that? She was perfect just the way she was. She had such beautiful, hazelnut-colored hair. The amount of time you've spent dreaming about running your hands through it... You'll have to readjust all your mental images of the two of you together. Edit the pictures in your head.

You feel bile in your mouth when you realize her intentions.

She wants to be you to Santana, when all _you _want is for her to look at you the way she looks at Santana. This is some fucked up shit.

That same day, you make out with Santana behind the bleachers. You're going to drag this one out. If living with your parents has enhanced one skill of yours, it's the acting skill. The years of pretending are finally proving their worth.

You set up a story about how you need to keep seeing Liam - simply because you do.

Liam isn't a fool, he knows you're not into him, but he also knows that _you_ know he's not into girls at all. (You're not quite ready to admit that _you_'re not into _guys_ at all. You keep telling yourself it's just Brittany, and how are you supposed to fight any feelings you have for her?) Santana doesn't need to know any of this.

"I understand, baby."

You smile. "Baby," you say slowly, pretending to test the word. "I like that."

You then set up some rules to hide the relationship. You knew your plan would work.

Santana is so blinded by her obsessive love for you, it's pathetic. In fact, she's not even in love with the _real_ you. She's in love with the idea she has developed of you over the years. (You refuse to believe you've done the same with Brittany. You ignore the rumors of her perfect record - you can't afford to lose yourself in rage the way Santana does.)

You can't deny that the first time you two fuck is magical. It's better than you'd thought it would be. She just keeps going. It's as if you've unleashed a monster within her. She whispers sweet nothings, treats you so gently, gingerly even, and for the first time you feel guilty for what you're doing.

When you kiss Santana, you can only think that Brittany kisses those lips.

When your tongue meets Santana's, you can only think that Brittany's has too.

You have sex with Brittany through Santana. It's wicked and perverse, but it's the best you can get. In the meanwhile, Santana's teaching you all about sex, which you will put to good use once you have Brittany.

You know you're not really good enough for her, but a part of you still hopes she'll see through that. A part of you hopes that she'll accept you're messed up and forgive you, even though you don't deserve it.

The longer you're together with Santana, the harder it becomes to break up with her. She's so sweet to you, so accommodating. For the first time you realize that she _cares_ for you. She knows you and all your flaws, but she still loves you.

And isn't that what you wanted? For someone to love you? Didn't you think that was impossible?

The way she looks at you... nobody will ever look at you like that. You know that.

You're surprised when you start looking forward to seeing her, kissing her, _making love_ to her. Spending time with her. Being goofy with her. Being nerdy with her. You know she won't tell. You can be yourself with her and you never knew how much you valued that.

She's the perfect girlfriend. A bit needy sometimes, and insanely jealous and possessive, but everybody has their flaws. God, don't you _know_ that.

When you first decide to let go of your original plan, you think you're settling for what you can get as you watch Brittany from afar. Because honestly, when Brittany meets Adam at the dance studio and introduces him to the two of you, your heart breaks and you want to kill him.

Over time, you see how happy he makes her. You know that he is helping her to get over Santana. And then Santana smiles at you, because she's happy for your friend, and you think to yourself that this isn't too bad - you could've done worse than see the girl you love being happy and have a gorgeous girl love you.

You learn to appreciate Santana.

Santana buys you the entire Harry Potter book collection for your birthday.

That's when you tell her for the first time that you love her and actually _mean _it.

You don't love her the way you love Brittany, but you think you can find peace with the fact that Brittany's happy. Santana treats you well, and when she proposed to you five years later and you accept, you do it with an honest heart.

_Fin._

* * *

><p><strong>AN 2: I hope this was a satisfying end to this short story. I hope that by adding two more chapters, I showed that every situation is too complex for one person to fully understand. Brittany misinterprets some of Quinn's actions, simply because she is so in love with Santana who is in turn so in love with Quinn that it isn't that far-fetched for Brittany to see everything Quinn does in a bad light.**

**I know Quinn is a bitch here. I hope the little background I gave her explains her actions. I know they don't condone them, but I honestly believe that in this story, maybe she simply doesn't know better.**

**As far as Santana goes - yes, she is happy, but one can wonder what the quality of that happiness is when it is based on lies. But then in the end, I do believe that Quinn has fallen for Santana and truly loves her, in her own way.**


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